Silent Speaking
by Sister-Fangirls-CS
Summary: It had been 3 years to the day was the only thought on John Watsons mind. 3 years since his wonderful friend..and his secret love had fallen from the Reinbach cliff and died. This is his reminice and continuing story.
1. Chapter 1

Author note: first Sherlock fic so please be nice. And do review!  
Warnings: OOC, slight yaoi fluff and angst. This is really sad so if you don't wanna cry at first then you may not like this. Implied lemon.  
Disclaimer: don't own...wish I did...

It had been 3 years to the day was the only thought on John Watson's mind as he strolled down the slightly snow frosted streets of London.  
3 years since his friend the brilliant, unflappable and completely mad (but in a good way) worlds only Consulting Detective Sherlock Holmes fell from the top of Reinbeck falls and died.  
3 years of quiet pain tucked away into a little private corner of his mind to gather dust. Being disturbed every so often by a careless remark from a college or failed attempt to lighten his mood by an unknowing (or uncaring) acquaintance. It was very much the same for the small group of 'family' that Sherlock had gathered and then left behind.  
A chill wind swept down the street and John pulled his collar up to shield his neck from it. Visiting the grave of his friend always brought a ever present cloud down to hover around his heart allitle closer, bringing with it the dark what if's and laden with unspoken words.  
The words that John had never dared to murmur aloud even in private.  
Never spoken, never heard.  
His Silent Speaking that no one would ever hear.  
He hadn't 'withdrawn' so much as the people that cared about him feared. He didn't limp or use his cane; he hadn't sunk into a little world of self pity or broken down into months of sobbing. But he hadn't 'moved on' either, not really. It wasn't that he couldn't. He just didn't want to try. He was tired of all the comforting gestures and sympathetic looks. Of all the ' poor dear, and he's in a better place'. John knew that nothing would bring Sherlock back. His quiet pain was a concern to those who could see it he knew. He knew that he rarely smiled and when he did it was tight and plastic..but he did it for people anyway. He knew he hardly went down to Scotland Yard anymore but he just didn't care. Couldn't bring himself to. His life was empty now.  
It was like all the purpose in his life had been drained away when his friend had killed himself. Oh he knew that he did it to rid the world of a creepy criminal mastermind and saved alot of lives..but all the same John thought it very selfish of Sherlock to go and leave them like that. He had left and broken his family's heart. And at least in John's case left a quiet and empty shell in the process.  
He still worked at the clinic (had to pay rent after all) and he lived at 221 B. Baker street if only for Mrs. Hudson. Yet the fact was that John was tired. He was silently hurting, everything locked up but so glaringly present whenever he walked up his home's stairs or went out to eat at Angelo's. John was tired of the pain yet couldn't get rid of it. It clung to his very being. John suddenly realized that it was time for Mycroft's yearly visit. And John surprisingly didn't mind.

Mycroft understood his quiet pain. Even understood his silent speaking though he never heard it. Mycroft was simply..Sherlock like and saw everything. And John didn't care to try and hide it.

A sleek black car rolled up beside him and John turned and quietly got in. Staring out the window with misted eyes as London rolled past him in a color washed blur. After the third pick up of this kind John had stopped resisting them. Even when he did he still ended up seated on a couch across from Mycroft in the Holmes mansion with a cup of tea later that evening anyway. When the car pulled up to the elegant mansion of the Holmes, John slowly walked up the marble steps and nodded to the door man, wiping his feet and went into the customary meeting place. Sitting on the expensive overstuffed couch John picked up the steaming cup of tea and took a sip, glancing at the imposing figure of the elder Holmes brother, who was standing at the fire place with his hands behind his back.  
"This is an early visit." John had given up on small talk when he visited Mycroft.  
"Yes, there is a good reason for it." Mycroft turned and sat down in front of the ex army soldier, and even John could tell with his underdeveloped deductive skills that the man with the 'minor position in the government' had recently received a great shock.  
"What's wrong?" John put his cup down and leaned forward with his hands on his knee's concern for the man leaping up in him and sparking his doctor's instincts.  
"I..well..I don't know how to put this gently." Mycroft took a deep breath to fortify himself for the doctor's reaction and plunged ahead.  
"My...brother is alive..and here."  
John's reaction was nothing like Mycroft was expecting. He had expected screaming or fainting or even a meltdown. What he got was a tangible release of bottled emotion. But it was silent. Not a word left the good doctors lips, not a sound. What did happen was a flood of different emotions over his face in quick succession that settled on something that frightened even Mycroft. It was emptiness. John's face was sad and cold and looked much older than his years. But there was no explosion of anger or screaming.  
John simply swallowed and closed his eyes. "I see. I should have guessed..its just like him after all." His voice was soft and monotone and sad. "Id..like to go home now. And im going to take you up on that unknown new flat if you don't mind. I...just need to not see him till I can be sure I won't fall to pieces."  
Mycroft nodded slowly and sighed, his brother had allot off explaining to do. And alot of asking for forgiveness if he was to reclaim what he lost those 3 years ago." Ill keep him away. Your things are being packed. Just let me know when you're ready John." Mycroft stood and held out a hand for his brother's blogger to shake, watching him sadly as the tired man walked out and was driven away. His brother had a lot of work to do indeed if he was to keep his doctor.

Author end note: so...one shot or two shot? Im not sure if I should end it here or if I go on. Do please review ^-^


	2. Chapter 2

Author note: OMG! Thank you so much for the positive feedback! I will keep writing. it will probibly be only a couple more chapters. thanks so much!

Warnings: very darkish and sad. more OOC and yaoi fluff.

Disclaimer: don't own.. dang it..

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"What do you mean you wont tell me where he went!" Sherlock paced around the room hands waving agitatedly in the air, his face blanched white with anger.  
"I'm not going to Sherlock simply because John asked me not to." Mycroft sat calmly in his chair, watching his brother pace with a slight frown on his face.  
"You have to tell me Mycroft! I need to see him. I NEED to see him!" Sherlock whirled on his sibling and ran his hand through his unruly curls. "He...cant not want to see me.." A sudden change seemed to come over the detective and he slumped down into the same couch that John had recently occupied, shoulders drooping.  
Mycroft sighed heavily and stood, patting his younger brother on the shoulder briefly before going to a small hidden camera box and removing the tape. "Sherlock. You could not have possibly thought that John would just welcome you back with open arms like nothing had happened after 3 years. You now must give HIM time. Let him work out how he feels before you go barging about and hurting him more."

Sherlock glared at his sibling. "He had time. 3 years of time. I HAD to go Mycroft. If I didn't John..Lestraud and Mrs. Hudson would all be dead. Dead. I couldn't let that happen and I most certainly couldn't let John know I was alive. It would have scrambled my plans before they could even begin."

Mycroft looked at his brother with sad eyes and held out the tape. "You have no clue Sherlock just what you did to them. You haven't kept up with them..for a genius you are very stupid. You have allot to see and understand still. You need to understand what you did to John. For claiming to be such a genius..you are quite the idiot Sherlock." Mycroft held out the tape to his brother. "Watch this before you decide when your going to start searching for him."

Sherlock snatched the tape from his sibling's hand and stormed from the room, fuming quietly about irritations of emotion and irrational thinking.

Mycroft watched his brother go with a sigh. Perhaps this was going to be harder than he thought for his brother.

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John was sitting in a comfortable flat for 1 somewhere on the other side of London, staring out the window at the snow dusted ground. Everything looked liked it was covered in powdered sugar. It was very pretty.

John chuckled humorlessly and closed the blinds, turning on the couch to watch crap telly. The same thing he had been doing for 4 days.

John had expected that he had 2 days before Sherlock was going to pick his lock and tell him he was being irrational and to follow him to Scotland Yard. Hell he had been looking forward to it. But a full 2 extra days later John was wondering if Sherlock was even looking at all. Nothing stood in Sherlock's way for long if he was really trying after all.

"Well." John muttered to himself, stretching. "He probibly forgot all about me and doesn't care. I really shouldn't be surprised. It was bound to happen anyway." Sighing heavily John dragged himself up from the couch and pulled on his coat. "Might as well go out to eat." The dark cloud seemed to settle down more heavily over his heart as the thought that the 3 years he had spent grieving were wasted because the man didn't care. John stepped out from his flat and locked it, then hailed a passing cab. 3 minuets after he had driven away had he been there he would have seen a tall dark figure nearly tripping from a cab of his own in hast to get to the locked door of the now empty flat.

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Sherlock pounded on the door to John's flat, eyes flicking left and right trying to deduce everything at once.

Locked door,

Blinds pulled,

Telly on,

Conclusion, John must be here moping.

Sherlock yelled John's name a few times, his frustration growing when he received no answer. New data was needed or a different conclusion needed to be made.

Alternate conclusion 1 was stupid. If John was asleep he would have been woken by the racket Sherlock was making.

Alternate conclusion 2 was of no use as well. No one left the telly on when taking a shower. Sherlock then decided that he needed new data so then proceeded to pick the lock.

Once inside Sherlock groaned at his own stupidity.

Coat gone,

Wallet gone,

Telly on.

Conclusion, John's emotional state had degraded recently to a dangerous level and he had left to eat comfort food, forgetting to turn off the telly. Cursing under his breath Sherlock left the flat and hailed a cab. He hated going to his brother for security footage but he needed to find John and quickly.

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John was sitting in the bathroom on the toilet of his flat. Everything was neat and tidy, like no one had ever lived there. He hadn't left any note, that would be dull. Everyone would figure it out anyway.

A small bitter smile crossed John's face as he hefted the gun. His gun. The gun he had used to kill for Sherlock.

"Ironic isn't it..that what he faked I'm actually going to do. Just not falling from a cliff this time. And with the weapon I use to save him." John sighed and cocked the gun, looking at his weapon without really seeing it.

"Serves him right I guess. Maybe Lestraud will be the one to discover my body." John stroked the sleek shining metal, his doctor side planning and predicting how the bullet would travel through his skin, if he was careful with the aim not nicking to much bone. Instead severing his carotid artery cleanly, leaving a perfect round hole in the top of his skull.

Smiling cynically John pressed the muzzle of the gun under his chin at just the right angle, almost relishing the feel of icy steel pressed into his nerves.

Sighing almost in relief John closed his eyes and leaned back against the wall. Whispering quietly to the empty air, "Goodbye."

And his finger tightened on the trigger.

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Author end note: Wellllllll? Tell me what you think by reviews! I promise to keep writing if I get them. ^-^


	3. Chapter 3

Author note: Thanks so much for all the positive reviews! only one more chap i think. This one is kind of short but packed with angst and fluff. Enjoy!

Sherlock's arrival to Johns flat was anything but graceful. He had been abruptly snatched from the streets of London and driven at well over a hundred miles an hour back to Johns flat. Tossed gracelessly from the car at the steps with the only information being a 'save him' note taped to the front door.  
Eyes wide Sherlock burst into the quiet flat, his mind processing the proffered data at light speeds.  
House cleaned,  
No personal items on furniture,  
Lights off,  
Power off in almost all of house,  
Coat on door (floor now that Sherlock had burst in)  
Conclusion, John was attempting suicide. Most likely place the bathroom.  
"John!"  
Sherlock flung open the bathroom door in a panic, his body freezing in shock as the sight of his friend, flatmate, blogger and personal doctor with his own gun pressed to the vulnerable flesh under his chin; the weapon cradled against his chest almost like a lover.  
At the sound of Sherlock's voice John's eyes opened, the lack of light in them causing a sharp pain to shoot through Sherlock's chest.  
"John..." Sherlock's voice was quiet now, full of shock and uncertainty. His hand was clenched so tightly onto the door frame that a slight cracking sound could be heard from beneath his white knuckles.  
"Hullo Sherlock." John didn't move the gun, staring at his once 'dead' friend and smiled a fragile and sad smile.  
"Ironic isn't it...this reversal."  
Sherlock swallowed heavily and nodded.  
"Yes..I suppose so. John.. why?"  
A dry humorless laugh resounded from the empty shell that used to be John and Sherlock flinched.  
" Why? I could ask you the same thing you know. 'Why did you jump, and 'why did you leave me' were two of the more prominent questions on my mind for the past 3 years. Now their, ' why did you stay away, and ' why did i not see that you never cared.' " John sighed and looked up at his gorgeous, pale eyed friend and smiled sadly.

" I love you Sherlock Holmes. I love you for all your horrible habits and with your maddening deductions of me. I love you and you broke my heart." The gun pressed more firmly against Johns throat.

" Now that you know i guess i can ask one final question. 'Why am I still here.' John closed his eyes and when Sherlock saw the tightening in the muscles of the good doctors hand he did the one thing that he could think of. He flung himself at his friend and wrapped his arms tightly around his waist, jamming his head up under John's chin and forcing his temple in the path of the bullet in the chamber of the gun.

John's eyes widened in shock as his friend wrapped his arms around him in a desperate hug only realizing what Sherlock planned when he felt the unruly curls pressed against his chin and didn't move.

"Sherlock, don't."

"I'm not moving John." Sherlock could feel the cold metal of the guns muzzle pressing into his temple, and felt his pulse speed up as adrenalin poured through his veins.

" Sherlock for pete sake MOVE!"

John tried one handed (as he was still holding the gun) to remove Sherlock from him and failed as the detective only held on tighter.

"John I am not letting go. If you wish to kill yourself you are going to have to go rather literally through me first."

Sherlock pressed himself closer to the army doctor (which was not an easy task when you were as tall and gangly as Sherlock and crammed into a tiny one person bathroom on the floor) who he was currently rather pissed at and terrified for.

"Sherlock..."

"I don't think you really want to do that John. SO if you will put down the gun we will talk. Ill explain why I left, you can rant, rave, cry, scream, and punch me as much as you wish. Just...please. Put down the gun."

John gave a shuddering sigh and let the gun fall, leaning back against the wall and wrapping his arms around his friend, tears running down his face in gleaming streams.

"I..hate you."

"I missed you to John." Sherlock sighed in relief and leaned back. "Hi." Then he kissed his army doctor.

Author end note: Soooooooo? like? hate? tell me please and review!


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